


All is  Fair In Love And War

by LiterallyLen



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eliza's to pure for this world, F/M, moving in, truly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterallyLen/pseuds/LiterallyLen
Summary: And yeah, he  may or may not remember a similar conversation as she’d described  occurring only ten minutes prior. But to be quite honest… , he was barely listening. Eliza’s got on one of his oversized t-shirts… and nothing else. So yeah, he should definitely not be expected to be paying anything any mind while his beyond gorgeous fiancé is sitting there, impossibly long legs put out for display, and one perfectly alabaster   shoulder bare where the shirt has slipped right off, effectively derailing  Hamilton's thoughts to how he’d kissed across her collar bone just earlier that night, nibbling on the hinge of her jaw while she writhed beneath him, teasing her mercilessly.ORIn which Alexander and Eliza bet on who can stay up the longest to decide who gets to decorate their newly furnished kitchen, they're both dweebs in love, and Eliza's so freaking hot.





	All is  Fair In Love And War

~*~

 

“YOU!”

With a start that almost makes him drop the vase in his hands, Hamilton turns around to find his surly looking  fiancé glaring daggers straight at him, lips pursed and nose wrinkled ever so adorably.

“Me?”

“You thief!” She squawks, hands perched on her hips, and mouth twisted up in a distinct sort of disapproval.

“Is this the part where you say I stole your heart?” He goads with a cocked brow, resuming their unpacking.  “Because darling, that line gets old after the millionth recital.”

“Wha? Na—no that is not what I was going to say,” Eliza scoffs— just a bit flustered with a dusting of pink touching the tops of her delicate cheekbones. “You ate the last spring role!” she accuses emphatically, almost tripping over the over a dozen boxes that are strewn across their newly furnished living room.

Hamilton can’t help but be endeared by her and her everythingness.

“Yes, yes I did,” He confirms distractedly. “I also dipped it into some spicy mayo and drank a bottle of water while I was at it… Your point?”

“That was mine Alexander! I called dibs!”

“I remember no such thing,” Hamilton sniffs haughtily, moving to rearrange the decorations on their mantel. (And yeah, it’s still fucking insane to him that he’s become so domestic that he’s got a mantel over the fireplace that the woman he loves more than any other had insisted was absolutely crucial to have if they were to move in together—probably for really romantical love making sessions in front  of it’s flames with the bliss of  no worries of anyone barging in on them, or griping  if they were being to loud—Which by the way, Laurens honestly  had no right in complaining about considering his track record with his and Lafayette’s “not a thing,” thing.)

“Oh, yuh huh you do!” Hamilton seriously wouldn’t be surprised if Eliza were to begin stomping her feet and pouting up a storm like a spoiled five year old, indignant over not being able to perches her favorite rag doll,  if the childishly  cross expression    on her pretty face is anything to go by. (And honestly how could one woman be so adorable and sexy all at once.)  “You were eating your gross rice and chickpea monstrosity, and I said that I’ll be right back to get some of the boxes in the spare room, and to save it for me! And then I come here, and I find this! This breach of all we’ve built together!”

“Seriously? All we built together has been uprooted over this?” He deadpans. “And here I was planning to purchase those tickets to Spain like we discussed, but alas if we are no more…”

“Don’t you try to change the subject you stealing stealer who steals!”

“The woman I’ve chosen the rest of my days with ladies and gentlemen.”

“I’ll take your intentional dodge as an admission,” She scoffs, arms crossed tight against her chest.

With an exasperated roll of the eyes, Hamilton considers her words— completely disregarding Eliza’s hyperbolic attitude. And yeah, he  may or may not remember a similar conversation as she’d described  occurring only ten minutes prior. But to be quite honest… , he was barely listening. Eliza’s got on one of his oversized t-shirts… and nothing else. So yeah, he should definitely not be expected to be paying anything any mind while his beyond gorgeous fiancé is sitting there, impossibly long legs put out for display, and one perfectly alabaster   shoulder bare where the shirt has slipped right off, effectively derailing  Hamilton's thoughts to how he’d kissed across her collar bone just earlier that night, nibbling on the hinge of her jaw while she writhed beneath him, teasing her mercilessly. 

Dear God does he love this girl, 

so   Really and truly, he should’ve never been expected to remember anything— let alone something as trivial as dibs—  if his utterly perfect partner is right there looking all preciously  determined with her hair pulled back into a messy knot atop her head, excited  over the prospect of fixing what is now their home.

“Well, even if I did remember that such a discussion  had taken place-“

“It did, and you know itAlexander!”

“Well there’s nothing we can do about it now love, is there?.”

Hamilton’s sure that he’s won the argument and they could just move on, until he catches the glint in Eliza’s impossibly luminous eyes—a glint that always means trouble.

“Is that right?”

Suddenly, an onslaught of fingers are piercing into his ribs, wiggling and tickling him into submission.  
“Say you’re sorry!” Eliza demands, an effortless grin of her own swept across her lovely face, brighter than the morning sun.

And yeah, maybe he should just admit that it was his bad, apologize a thousand times over in the form of lingering kisses and caressing hands.… But the thing is, Hamilton’s  stubbornness  has always been too rigid for his own good… 

“Never you vixen!”

“I won’t relent till you profess an apology to my satisfaction,” she scoffs— a playful giggle lilting her overly formal words.

“And I won’t surrender!” He parries with a leer.

Hamilton tickles back  harder, and Eliza  shimmies around so much that she ends up jabbing him in the eye,  ramming straight into his chest, and  effectively sprawling them—all long limbs and crooked angles—onto the wooden floorboards.

“Just say you’re sorry!” she insists, breathless laughter starting to gargle her words while Hamilton just gazes down at her, mercilessly besotted.

“”S not my fault you didn’t take it with you Schuyler, i’ve committed no grievance.”

“Oh come off it pretty boy,” she giggles, kneeing him lightly in the abdomen enough that he tenses, giving her the chance to  switch their positions once again, so that  she’s back  on top. 

“My have the tables turned,” she taunts with one of her most dazzling smiles, dimples in full effect, and crinkles around her pretty onyx eyes.

“I like how you think I’m at all opposed to this position,” he says with a pixilated gleam.

“Perv!” She scolds, smacking his side playfully. “Now admit that I won!”

“Never!”

 Somehow, amidst all the thrashing bodies and choked peals of laughter, Hamilton flips her over— slight body beneath his own, with Eliza’s wrists pinned over her head.

“Now, now Betsey, I reckon that spring has rolled into winter for you,” Hamilton most definitely does not laugh raucously    at his own pun.

“That’s not even the direction that the seasons go in,” she contends with a slight dip between her brows, a tell Hamilton’s picked up on whenever she’s mad over an outcome.

“You still lost though,” he barbs with no real bite, pecking a quick kiss to her lips in solace.

“You’re awful, and I’m calling off the wedding,” she sniffs in turn—wiggling underneath him to try and get loose.

“Oh, you love me really.” Hamilton preens like the cat who’s gotten into the cream.

“Lies and slander!” She waggles her tongue between her teeth, and he dips down to bite it teasingly. 

“Hmm, now isn’t this cute,” the pair scramble away from each other, utterly stunned once spotting Angelica, gaze twinkling and lips set into a firm smirk, eyeing them while leisurely lounging against the door frame. “Colombia’s darlings in the midst of some G rated hanky-panky. Now that’s rich.” 

Eliza completely reddens, totally flustered, while Hamilton just follies a smug sort of grin right back at the woman he wishes to call his sister one day soon. 

“OH Angie!” Eliza tries to smile sweetly, as if her tongue wasn’t down his throat only two seconds ago, but it just comes out as an awkward grimace. “I forgot that you’re dropping off the boxes tonight.”

“Evidently baby sister,” she snorts, strutting further into the apartment and setting down the box of photos Eliza had asked her to bring over. “Far too busy mapping out your beau I reckon.”

Eliza lets out  a breathy little chuckle, sounding uncomfortable as all get out, and Hamilton thinks it’s impossibly precious how she’s still so conscious over what her dearest older sister thinks. 

“Well not quite mapping me out on account of your interruption,” Hamilton points out, smiling all the while so she knows it’s just a jest. Though Hamilton suspects he made the wrong choice to correct her when Angelica’s smile suddenly goes predatory and she flips back a chunk of her immaculately straightened hair. 

“Well perhaps I just stopped by to make sure you aren’t further corrupting my darling Eliza. But I guess that giant love bite on your neck proves that I’m too late.” 

Hamilton can’t help the chuckle that pours out of his lips at her needled observation, smacking a hand to conceal the hickey she’s taunting him about, knowing exactly where it is, reveling in the sensation of it, of the idea that his beautiful Betsy was the one to give it to him. 

“He-he just marks easily,” Eliza pipes out, cheeks completely infused red and worrying on her bottom lip like it’s an olympic sport. “Seriously.” 

Angelica rolls her eyes in a way that convinces Hamilton that she doesn’t believe it for a second. 

“Whatever you say Liza,” she smirks with no more argument. “but pray tell, are you guys about done swapping spit around me? Or is that going to forever be a regular occurrence in the Eliza and Alexander show?”

“Now I’d reckon that’ll get a sold out crowd every night, don’t you?” He says, directing his question at both of them while taking Eliza’s hand, and pushing her closer to him— just always preferring to have some sort of contact with her. 

“Oh put a sock in it,” Eliza harrumphs, finally starting to return to her normal coloring in the midst of Angelica’s unrestrained cackles. 

“Oh my god Alexander! I nearly forgot how roguish you could be while studying abroad in London. I’m impressed that you could keep up baby sister, considering your saintly lineage and all.”

“DOn’t even front, she’s worse than me,” Hamilton argues, kissing the back of Eliza’s palm with earnest. “You just gotta know how to—“

“Alex! remember how we discussed how certain things just stay between us, and only us,” Eliza chides, touching the pads of her fingers to his smiling lips, thinking her so adorably flustered.

“Huh,” Angelica scoffs, weight slung to her left hip. “As if I don’t get a front row seat every time  you two are even in a ten foot radius of each other—OH hey, I know that look Liza! The one eyed squint, and the teeth. Well your “I’m about to kill my gorgeous older sister,” look has no place here, i’ll see my way out now. Just promise not to christen every room in this place, kay? We’d all like to visit without the residual specs haunting us! And I know how moody you get without your daily dose of my scintillating company.”

Hamilton thinks that Eliza’s trying to skewer a whole in the spot where Angelica was just standing, if the terribly cross look on her face says anything, but for his part Hamilton just giggles at her snarl.

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m your future wife!”

“I wasn’t laughing at you darling!” Hamilton is quick to correct. “I’m just always amazed by you.” That dent between her brows is back again for a moment, but then her beauteous features smoothen out and she just pecks a quick kiss to his lips before rifling through the box Angelica brought over. 

Hamilton moves to check his phone for any new messages from work— sure he’s technically only part time wile still finishing off his L3, but he knows how much Washington still depends on him for just about everything… especially now with the primaries just around the corner and then the governorship the next great horizon. So even though Washington gave him the week off with the specific instructions of getting everything gathered in his new place, and “Making that lovely fiancé of yours non the wiser to how much better she can do,” Hamilton still wants to make himself completely available if there’s some sort of emergency.

There’s a notification from the Times about the Taliban taking credit for another bombing in Afghanistan, McHenry ranting about how Washington’s in new form today, BuzzFeed offering him a quiz about “Which Founding Father Are You?” Laurens sending a picture of a homely looking tomcat with the caption “Ham is that You” (He sends him the middle finger in response). And an email from Burr with the tagline reading “deleting old pics from my phone and couldn’t help but share.”

Bewildered, Hamilton opens up the attachment only to find a truly awful photograph of himself. One that was definitely taken freshman year of undergrad, he was still in that weird hippy phase where his auburn hair is tied back into a man bun, and he’s still yet to have put on at least twenty more pounds of muscle. In layman’s terms he looks like a complete and total dweeb. Drunk off his ass so much so that you can see the stars in his eyes even through the clunky glasses he use to sport, and his finger is pointed and mouth is open in the way it always is when he’s ranting about something or the other. 

THere’s about a thousand different retorts he wants to shoot right back to Burr— ranging from nasty to downright despicable— but then he catches the familiar peal of laughter coming from behind him. He’s not surprised when he sees Eliza—beautiful, ingenuous, perfect Eliza who’s physically incapable of taking a photograph less than effortlessly gorgeous— peering over his shoulder in utter amusement.

“Oh My God I need to tell Aaron to print that off for prosperity.” 

“I hate him,” is all Alexander says. 

“I can’t believe that’s you!” Eliza continues. 

“I want to banish him, no. No I want to banish all of them. All of our friends, we can make knew ones Betsy. I mean look at us! We’re a catch!” He tosses his phone onto the newly furnished sofa as if it has affronted him and all he stands for.

“ Oh totally, this’s our castle babe, we can banish whom ever we like,” Eliza balances on her tiptoes,  and smacks an exasperated kiss onto his cheek. Hamilton can barely contain the glee that’s dancing in his eyes at the thought of this being their own personal castle— just for the two of them— causing another swell of fondness to pound in his chest.

“Well maybe we can give’m another chance,” he relents, melting into how Eliza’s locked her arms around his neck, and is smiling up at him with all the love in the world shining unadulteratedly in her lovely eyes. “I mean they did help us move all those boxes and junk.”

Eliza hums her agreement while he presses his forehead against her own.

“What a generous king,” she goads, words hugged with fondness. 

“You are such a dork.”

“Hey! That’s queen dork to you Mr!”

“I’m only marrying you to get a divorce,” he deadpans, decidedly unimpressed. “Just a heads up.”

“Love you too hot stuff,” she crows, moving down to pick up one of the packages. “Now c’mon we said we’d get done with the kitchen before bed, and we need to stay on schedule if this place is ever gonna be livable Alexander.”

Eliza shoots him a grin at the mutinous “tease,” he huffs under his breath before following suit. 

 

~*~

 

Setting the final glass into the display cabinet, Eliza looks around at the nearly complete room. 

“Hey Alex, where’s the wallpaper?”

“Hmm, what wall paper?” He asks while neatly arranging the coffee mugs in the cupboard over the sink.

“You know, the one with all the flowers on it. The one we said we’d keep for the kitchen.”

“Wait, wait,” Hamilton pivots on his heals so quick that his hair starts sticking up. “You were serious about that?”

“Yeees,” Eliza sets down the pair of scissors in her hands that she was using to open up the next box, and stands straight to level her gaze with Hamilton’s “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Eliza, babe!” It’s his turn to start thrashing his arms out with no true purpose but to get across his point. “You actually wanted to lather up our kitchen with some hideous floral print!”

“It was not “hideous” Alexander,” Eliza scoffs airily.

“Oh hoe yes it was! I thought you showed it to me for us to get a good kick out of it or something!”

“My grandmother’s house back in Albany is practically made up of that same exact print from wall to wall.”

Hamilton’s expression goes pained. “And as a devotee of tasteful things I will pray for her even in my sleep, but Betsy—love of my life, stars of my night— You as a beauty that can be rivaled by no other and who’s art work astounds all onlookers— You must know that it’s not exactly a print that’s… Well, erm… Pleasing to the eye?”

“Well I liked it,” Eliza sniffs. “And I think I should be able to choose considering that you’ve practically decided on all the other decor.”

“I thought we were under the silent consensus that I was the cultured one in this relationship, and you’re just the arm candy I get to show off whenever we go out…?” The glower she gives him right then is murderous, and Hamilton seriously fears for his well being. “Hey, woe just kidding babe, you’re wonderful!”

“You are such a tool!”

“A tool who loves you and appreciates your intellect over all else?”

“Nope just a tool,” she barks with a cuffing to the back of his head. “Hmm, I’ve got an idea.”

Hamilton rubs the tender spot while peering down at her. 

“Does it include anything like punching me again?”

“I wish,” she snipes. “But what about an all nighter! You, and me, first one to fall asleep loses.”

He nods. 

“SO if I win, we get to paint the kitchen which ever color I prefer?”

“Spot on! But of course, we both realized that’s totally metaphorical, considering you’re a total lug, who’s gonna weep over my prowls.”

“Charming, you’re charming you know that Schuyler?”

“Who needs charm when you’re the inevitable winner,” Eliza counters, pompous as all get out.

“I haven’t even agreed to the competition yet, don’t ya think you’re counting your eggs a little early?”

“B-bu-buck, buck, buck buck. Someone sounds chicken that he’s gonna lose.” she taunts in lieu of a reply.

“Fine,” Hamilton grits out through clenched teeth. “Prepare to lose Schuyler.”

“Bring it on Alexander!” She sneers. “Imma  gonna go pick out some color swatches.”

 

~*~

 

~Hour 1~

 

Hamilton is fine. Really, he’s doing great. Admittedly, He’s ordinarily the one in the duo who is knocked out right when he collapses onto their king sized mattress, (Unless of course he was promised a little something before bed… Eliza’s always been much more the night owl, watching some drama on Netflix, or finishing an extra chapter of which ever book she’s particularly engrossed in.

No, Hamilton is almost always past out by ten, eleven at the latest, and starts his days bright an early… That is unless he’s been assigned some sort of task by Washington that’s absolutely dire to be completed before then, but even so, it’s a difficulty to keep his eyes open without at the very least four shots of espresso.)

But nonetheless, the clock just ticked midnight, and Hamilton’s not even the least bit drowsy. He’s determined to beat Eliza in this little game of theirs, and put his permanent marking on this home. Proof that he’s in this for the long hall. So he takes another sip of his iced lemonade, (both he and Eliza having had come to the consensus that caffeine or anything of the likes would be cheating,) and flips open the next chapter to David Hosack’s new findings on a rare genetic testing that could begin to shrink the mass of cells composing a cancerous tumor. Hamilton’s always considered himself well read up in new filings in the medical field— considering that his undergrad was biomedical sciences before he chose to go to law school— And he’s always found the work by Hosack unswervingly intriguing.

So yeah, it’s all going good. Going great really… Well until a waft of something sweet starts oozing from the battlegrounds. And he has to steal his nerves to find out what sort of wicked plan Eliza’s got under her designer sleeves.

What Hamilton does not expect to find is Eliza—clad in a apron reading “Kiss the Chef—wrist deep in   
sugar and cinnamon cloaked doe.

“OH hello love o’mine,” her smile is something slow and deliberate, a grin that would under other circumstances  make his toes curl.

“What’s going on here?” Hamilton asks curtly, ignoring the rumbling in his stomach by the pleasant aroma.

“OH nothing Alexander,” Eliza shrugs blithely, needling the use of his full name just to get a rise out of him. “I just thought that I needed some sustenance, ya know? And I was like, what’d be better than whipping up some of those delightedly cherry tarts my mother taught me how to bake when I was younger.”

Hamilton’s face goes slack, and the way her smile only grows in size tells him that she knows that she’s already won this little battle.

“Oh darling You know which ones  I’m talking about, don’t you? The ones I baked for our second date in front of the fireplace because you had that awful cold. You remember don’t you?”

 “Those are my favorite,” he grudges out petulantly, hating that she thought of this tactic before him.

“OH! Really?” Eliza’s perfectly manicured brows shoot up in counterfeit surprise. “Oh, well you can always have one darling, I mean I understand the craving.”

He eyes her suspiciously, if not a bit hopeful. (His mouth is already watering at the thought of biting into one of them, and then hopefully partaking in much of the same actions they had that night in question— that would surely help him keep awake. 

) “Really? You’d let me eat one after you were done baking them?”

“OH yes, of course! What do you take me for, some sort of Cretan?” Hamilton doesn’t ease up on his glaring, holding his breath for the catch. “OH, well there’s obviously that little caveat where you’d have to forfeit,” and there it is. Spoken in a sickeningly sweet croon. Far to loftily if Hamilton has anything to say about it. “Oh don’t look so sour, that’s an obvious given.”

“You really are an evil siren, do you know that?” Hamilton toots with the shaking of his head, and with all the strength he can muster, he swaggers out. Determined to meet his challenge head on.

“Alrighty, i’ll be here when you buckle!” She chirps out from behind him.

 

~*~

 

~Hour 3.5~

The bell of the oven dings.

Simpering, Eliza pulls out the wonderful smelling tarts, practically tasting victory as she sets the tray onto the marble countertop.

“Oh Alexander!” she sings mockingly to nowhere in particular. “Last chance, they smell heavenly if I do say so myself!”

It’s not long until Eliza hears the pitter pat of footsteps coming down their staircase. sHe can already see what print she’d like for the walls after he gives up.

“They do smell pretty  good,” Hamilton remarks, inflating Eliza’s ego all the more.

“I know and you cou—Wh-what are you doing!” Eliza chokes on her own spit, face flushed with heat.

“What’s wrong babe?” Hamilton leers—and oh fuck him. Fuck Alexander James Hamilton to the deepest recesses of hell.

“Y—You’re naked Alex,” She all but rebukes. Hating how her voice trembles with irritation. 

“Oh? Am I?” He plays dumb, fluttering his ridiculous lashes and stretching one of his arms behind his head with  a cocky grin— a move only working to accentuate his muscled, and lithe physique.

Fuck!

Fuck, fuck fuck.

Fuck!

All Eliza could do is watch him. Powerless to retaliate.

“I hate you.”

Hamilton’s smile is something cunning and dangerous, the same one he gets whenever he’s won an argument in court or when he’s bested Jefferson in whatever war of words they’d wage for that particular hour. Hamilton has absolutely no right to look so damn sexy, leading Eliza’s mind straight into the gutter.

Slowly—far to slowly that no way it’s anything but deliberate—Alexander snags the cup of milk Eliza had poured to tease him with. Gulping it down with reverends, and swiping off the white remains from his cupids bow lips—his tongue poking out to swipe across the corner of his mouth.

“Smells good babe,” Eliza goes back to glaring as Hamilton comes closer—so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, and could spot every lovely line    on his perfectly tanned skin. So close, that all Eliza has to do is reach out, and curl a hand around his neck, and the other knotted in his auburn hair, and just kiss him senseless—forgetting all about this ridiculous challenge. “I can’t wait to eat them in our nicely painted  kitchen.”

Oh! Wait, no! 

No! No! No!

, No! Eliza hates him.

Hamilton pecks a fleeting kiss onto  her lips, and in turn, Eliza determinedly does not take an eye full of his perfectly chiseled ass as he saunters out.

Okay—so maybe just a quick glance.

“You know that I won’t back down Alexander!”

“Bring it on Babe!” he parrots her earlier words with not so much of a flicker back to where Eliza’s left standing dumbfounded.

And oh dear God, Eliza really does kind of hate him—Or just really, really love him—she hasn’t decided quite yet.

 

~*~

 

~Hour 6~

Hamilton is screwed.

He is royally and supremely fucked.

Okay, so maybe the whole walking around naked thing until Eliza surrenders might have gone a bit nuclear—But then she had to go ahead and bring out the big guns.

He’s in love with a wicked master mind, truly.

“You don’t mind right Alex?” Eliza asks with hooded eyes as she folds back so that her spine is perfectly arced—ass up, and hands flat on the ground.

Hamilton may or may not swallow down a noise that should only be squeaked out in the middle of sexy times, not by just watching a totally spandex clad Eliza doing her daily yoga regiment—her long dancer limbs stretched out and flexing in ways that make him whimper with arousal.

“Ye—yeah, why would I have a problem. This is both of our room…You do your thing, and I’ll just sit here. reading.”

Hamilton pretends that Eliza isn’t smirking imperiously at him, as if she’s already won…Which maybe she already has— he has no clue.

“Good, I’d hate it if you had to race out or something because I was making you uncomfortable.” Eliza curls into herself, and effortlessly moves into curling both legs behind her head—a noise that should be illegal pouring from her perfectly plump lips all the while.

“Erm—na—nope. It’s all good. I’m fine. No worries.”

“Oh good!” she crows.

A spell of silence drapes over them, and Hamilton starts  to think that he can actually survive this little stalemate they’ve got going on  for the next hour—just until the sun comes up-but then, no. Just no! Eliza  is not allowed to just stretch back like that— silently inviting Hamilton to join her down there.

wicked, wicked mastermind. 

“Okay, that’s it!” Hamilton yells out, throwing aside the book he’s lost interest in hours ago, and stomps to where Eliza’s blinking owlishly up at him, as if she hasn’t a clue to what she was just in the midst of doing.

“You’re cheating!” Hamilton charges indelicately. He knows that he may look a little like an angry Abigale Atoms right about now—hands on his hips, and a firmly set jaw—but he doesn’t care. These are unfair grounds.

“Now, now Alexander,” Eliza takes her dandy time to stand back up in all her glistening glory. “There was nothing that stipulated that I  couldn’t perform my morning workout. After all it is the morning, is it not?”

“no—You know. This is not!” Okay, so Hamilton is kind of flabbergasted, but could you blame him?  
“This is wholly inappropriate Eliza!”

“Alls fair in love and war.”

“I am not gonna back down,” Hamilton forces out, hoping Eliza could just understand his determination and just let him have this.

“Neither am I,” she instead contends. And really? Should Hamilton be surprised? This is Eliza Schuyler he’s talking about here. The girl composed of fire and steel. Dosed in bubblegum affability, and the incandescence of a thousand blazing suns. The strange amalgamation of sharp tongued and endlessly compassionate. The only person who’s ever made him feel something worth anything. The girl he fell in love with without even knowing it.

“Well, maybe this is the wrong decision all together!” Hamilton barks out. He has no clue where the sudden intensity of the situation came from, but he doesn’t bother trying to figure it out. Just swivels around, and locks himself into their master bath, leaving in his wake a totally befuddled Eliza.

 

~*~

 

~Hour 6.5~

Eliza’s at a complete loss of words, petrified by the desperate edge that had suddenly lilted Hamilton’s tone. 

“Maybe this’s the wrong decision all together!”

She just stands there—feeling as if someone has just skewered her raw, while an unnerving amount of  guilt burrowed somewhere deep inside her gut. Eventually though, she shakes her self out of the trance and scurries to the door that Hamilton had sought refuge behind.

“Alexander?” sHe panics just slightly, it feeling like her lungs have just been lodged in her throat as she raps against the wooden partition. “Can, Can i come in? Please.”

Another beat passes.

“Alex?”

The door eventually swings open, a guilt ridden looking Hamilton standing on the other side—all sunken eyes, and a throbbing bottom lip, obviously having been worried raw.

“I’m sorry for freaking out like that,” Hamilton stutters out, making Eliza all the more floundered. He’s always been the calm, cool, and collected half in their little duo. He rarely, if ever permits himself to be in any way vulnerable. 

“No, don’t apologize. I’’m sorry for whatever I did to make you-“

“DOn’t,” Hamilton quickly interjects, taking Eliza’s dandy  hands into his larger ones,  giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You did nothing wrong.”

His eyes are boring into Eliza’s with a fierceness that takes her off guard.

“Then what-“

“When I was younger— before my mom passed and my dad eventually left—“ He chokes a little at that, but plows forward, for Eliza if not anything else. “She and my dad had a lot  of small arguments. Ridiculous spats, like who finished the milk carton and didn’t replace it, or who’s turn it was to do the laundry—Just stupid, mundane things.” Eliza nods, silently nudging him to continue, knowing full and well how difficult it was for him to ever confide to her his hardships as a child, always trying to be this unobtainable image of someone “worhty” of her love. She always hated how much he’s always kept closed off from even her, terrified that it was eating him up on the inside. “Well, eventually small, insignificant squabbles turned into big ones. And before they could reconcile for the last time— She past away— and Eliza— Betsy, my beautiful, perfect Betsy— I never want anything like that to ever happen to us!”

“Hey, hey now,” she cups his face into her hands, knowing it in her heart that he’s the most precious person in the world to her. Alexander, I  swear to you that nothing of the sorts will ever happen to us. I love you with all my being. You must know that.”

The corners of his mouth turn up into the smallest of grins, and he wraps his arms around her waste in a desperate sort of intimacy. “All I know is that I love you more than I will ever love anything in the world Eliza. You make me happier then I’ve ever been each and every day.”

“Then why are you so worried?” Eliza almost laments.

“Because i don’t want us to be moving to fast, and you realize that you never really needed me,” his voice cracks, and Eliza sees an echo of a boy standing in the snow outside of one of her father’s premiere soirees, hiding all his insecurities beneath layers of bravado and an untouchable sheen of perfection. This boy she loves so endlessly. 

“Never, ever even think that my losing interest is a possibility,” she chides, moving even closer.  “Alexander, I’m in this for the next eon. I don’t care how many inconsequential or serious fights we have—That’l never alter. I love you more than I know what to do with, that’s something so true to me I can’t even begin to use words to describe as much. Okay?”

Hamilton’s lips curve up into a ghost of a smile, but never reach his lovely, almost violet eyes. And  Eliza wonders if he’ll ever  truly understand just how greatly she adores him. 

 She just opts to kiss him, tries to convey all the words she can’t speak out loud through that simple piece of contact.

“I love you Alexander, always have, always will.” sHe breathes out against his lips, tendrils of her warm breath skirting over his.

They sand there for longer, holding onto one another with all their might, until Eliza thinks that Hamilton might begin to comprehend  how true her words ring for tonight at the very least.

 

~*~

 

They compromise on painting the walls a soft eggshell, and Eliza paints a little mural on it to represent their friends and their story.

When they grow older—married with kids—Eliza and Hamilton let all of them add onto the collage they’ve created.

And every day and night  they remind each other that they love each other with all they have, “Always have, and always will,” making sure that there is no doubt in either of their minds, even through all the fights and heartaches.

**Author's Note:**

> OMFG So I literally have got to go catch a plane rn so I'll keep it short.
> 
> I'm so endlessly besotted with these two, this was mega fun to write, and if you guys could leave me any opinions on how this turned out I'd love you for ever and a day!! legit I would ddieeee!!!<3<3<3
> 
> Also always down to fill some prompts for these angels<3


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